Mary felt aimless as she searched through the hospital's first floor, her carry-on forgotten on her arm. The nurse at the front desk had given her directions, but her voice had sounded muffled to Mary's ears. Rather than ask the nurse to repeat herself, like any normal person would, Mary thanked her and practically bounded out of the waiting area. Now, she had no idea where she was, her brother was possibly dying somewhere, and her body was shaking from the lack of nicotine in her system. It was tempting to cry then and there. Luckily, before she came to that point, she spotted Steve.
Her breath caught in her throat.
He was paler than she remembered him last, and Mary felt guilty for not knowing if it was a side-effect of his current condition or if he had always been like that. The bandage on his head was intimidating, even though it was there to help. Other than that, nothing physically seemed wrong with him, save for a couple of scratches and bruises here and there. What shook Mary more than anything else was how vulnerable he seemed to be, surrounded by whites and pale blues. Steve seemed so small in this overwhelming hospital setting, and it made it harder for her to breathe. Her older brother had always been the strong one, not her. He was always bigger and tougher than anything life threw at him. However, seeing him in that hospital bed forced Mary to realize that her brother wasn't as invincible and immortal as she made him out to be. That fact alone made it even more difficult for her to breathe, virtually suffocating her, and she gripped the counter top of the nurse's station to regain some control. Her thoughts were jumbled and panicked, unsure of how to process her role in this horrid situation. She couldn't seem to stop staring at her brother and the fear in his eyes, but found herself ripping her gaze from him anyway to study the police officers interrogating him.
"Excuse me," a doctor said, making her jump, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you, but are you Miss Mary McGarrett?"
"Yes. Why are they talking to him?" she asked, anxiety accelerating her words.
"They're asking about what happened to him." the doctor said.
"But he has amnesia."
"They still feel the need to try."
"But they're scaring him," Mary said, the statement alone adding fear to her hammering heart.
Steve used to fear nothing.
"I assure you, Miss McGarrett, that is not their intention—"
"Yeah, well, they are, so tell them to go away."
"I…I'm Dr. Yeman, your brother's doctor," he said, ignoring her demand and patting her shoulder.
"Will he get his memory back?" Mary asked him, keeping her stressed gaze on the police officers.
"I'm afraid only time will tell," Mary finally looked at him, her eyes beginning to water once again. Dr. Yeman looked grim yet confident, but Mary found no comfort in his expression, "Bringing him to familiar places—his home perhaps, or one of his schools—and surrounding him with familiar faces should help him regain some of his memory. Telling him some stories about his past will be helpful too, but I advise being vague so he can put the pieces together for himself."
Tears slid down her cheeks. Mary looked back over at her brother, who still seemed fearful of the two uniforms talking to him.
"I should tell you, Miss McGarrett," Dr. Yeman said after a moment of silence, "your brother has been taken very good care of by an old your friend of yours."
"What?" Mary asked, her voice strangled by emotion.
"Mr. Chin Ho Kelly. Does that name seem familiar to you? He told Steve that he used to be your father's partner."
Mary thought a moment, taking the time to swallow and compose herself.
"The name sounds familiar, but I don't remember him." she said.
Dr. Yeman nodded as if he was expecting that answer.
"It was him and two of his friends that saved Steve's life."
Mary's heart constricted.
"R-really?"
"They found him unconscious in the ocean," Dr. Yeman continued cautiously, watching with worry as Mary choked and fidgeted at the new information, "They resuscitated him and called the paramedics."
Mary bit down on her pointer finger, sniffing. She couldn't do this. She couldn't be strong for herself, let alone anyway as important as Steve.
"It was my understanding that Mr. Kelly would be returning today to assist Steve with his memory." Dr. Yeman said.
"Really? When?"
Dr. Yeman motioned towards the police officers.
"As soon as they leave."
Mary wasn't fully conscious of what she was doing until she was standing by her brother's bed. Panic distracting her from her self-awareness, she gave a watery glare at the police officers. Steve's wide-eyed, confused stare went overlooked.
"You're done," she told the officers, her tone simple and stoic, "My brother is sick and needs rest. You have enough information, so leave."
"Ma'am, we're almost done—"
"He can't remember anything, morons," she snapped. Both of the officers glanced at each other, but remained polite in their silence, "You're better off getting information from your horoscopes than you are from him. So, I'm asking—I'm telling you one more time to leave."
"Ma'am—"
"LEAVE."
It took a couple minutes of convincing, but they finally obliged to her wishes and left her brother in peace.
"Call him," Mary told Dr. Yeman, her small adrenaline rush dissolving.
Dr. Yeman nodded before heading towards a phone.
Remembering Steve, Mary turned to him. She noted that he no longer seemed as afraid as he did before, but he did appear to be rather stunned to see her there. She didn't know what she could say to him, and was distressed by the fact emotion was compromising her vision and breathing once again. After a few seconds of awkwardness, she finally blurted the first thing that came to mind.
"Hi."
He blinked at her.
"Hi," he said back.
When the phone rang, Danny knew it would be the hospital. He didn't bother answering the shrieking device, knowing someone else was going to beat him to it. Absentmindedly, he chewed at his lip, remaining in his lounged position over his scratchy couch (aka: Chin's uncomfortable bed) as he listened to the quiet sounds of the phone being answered. He could hear Chin speaking from some other location in the apartment. Then he heard the small beep of Chin ending the call.
"I'm going back to the hospital," his ex-partner said, appearing from the hallway and heading towards the door.
"Already?" Danny asked, though he didn't know why he bothered.
"Steve's sister is there."
Not asking for details—not caring about details—Danny asked Chin if he would want to wake Kono, who slept like a tranquilized bear in Grace's room.
"Let her sleep," Chin said before he stepped outside and shut the apartment door.
Danny stared at the door for an indifferent moment. Then he lulled his head towards the TV, whose blank screen impassively mocked him. Danny merely huffed at the screen, determined to not let is lack of cable get the best of him. So he couldn't watch all the games he wanted to see. TV was known to rot brains anyway. Or, so Gracie used to tell him.
Thinking about his daughter brought a dull ache in his chest, which motivated Danny to get up and retrieve some beer. He went to the fridge to do just that, only to discover they were fresh out of his precious beverage. Feeling a little desperate, he went as far as to search through his secret stash of whisky, but found that he was out of that too. Danny cursed.
He hadn't wanted to face his growing financial crisis, but it was becoming too significant to overlook any further. It didn't help that Kono had repeatedly mentioned the money troubles her own family seemed to be having. It meant that his place was her and Chin's last resort before they were forced into homelessness or, at least, into someone else's home. There had to be someone else on this horrifying island that didn't hate Chin's guts…
Right? Danny thought.
He hated it when he doubted himself. It made his actions hesitant, which often made the results of said actions less effective. But, with Chin and Kono living with him, they were not only sucking up his money like a bottomless vacuum, they were giving Danny a renewed sense of duty. This was his home, and he was responsible for its residents. That was a lot of pressure, pressure he had grown used to living without, and it was forcing Danny to reevaluate his occupational status.
Due to his loyalty to Chin, and due to every single cop's paranoia towards Internal Affairs, Danny couldn't get any type of job in law enforcement. He had to settle for a few lower jobs—cashier, janitor, waiter—but all of them ended with him losing his temper and getting fired. For the most part, he had been surviving on his emergency funds, which could have lasted him another month or so if Chin and Kono hadn't moved in.
Danny sighed—almost groaned—as he finally accepted a decision he had never wanted to make. Having been hired and fired by so many of the surrounding businesses, his job-options were virtually none. There was only one job left, as far as he could see, that he still had a chance of getting. And that mere fact alone was killing the last remaining shred of dignity Danny had left.
I hate Hawaii…so much.
When he was told Steve McGarrett was alive, he almost laughed. However, instead of letting out his pent up chuckles, he shoved the messenger to the wall and demanded explanation. All he got was a threat from the kid's tiny voice.
"He already knows. And you know what he does to those who make a mess," the kid said, his lips quivering.
The temptation to choke the kid probably would have been stronger if fear hadn't churned in his gut. There was truth to the whiny words presented to him.
"Get out of here," he growled, grabbing the kid by the scruff of his neck and throwing him towards the door.
The kid was out of there in a matter of seconds.
His shot of vodka sat on the bar counter behind him. The liquid was calm in its small container, sparkling under the bar's dulling lights. It was quiet in its promising of soothing his stress, and he was almost tempted to turn around and gulp it down. However, he pushed the desire aside and tossed the barkeep a twenty dollar bill before snaking his away around a couple of tables and heading out the door.
He wasn't used to making mistakes. Granted, he wasn't use to having an opponent like Steve McGarrett. He had to go underground for almost a year because of the SEAL's obsessive search for him, and even then he was almost caught on a number of occasions. He had been a fool to think five rounds to the ocean's surface would kill McGarrett, but blood had pooled at the water's top...a lot of blood…. He was almost as afraid of McGarrett's capabilities as he was irritated by them.
He took in a breath, letting the night air warm his lungs. He recognized that the alcohol in his system was compromising his judgment, having stumbled over his own feet one too many times. He would have to sleep the drunkenness off before he could properly figure out his next move. McGarrett was thorough and precise, making patience and caution dire for survival. However, regardless of all of that, he knew there was one call he had to make.
He was alone. That part of the city was particularly shady and unvisited, so he allowed himself to relax a little and leant against grimy building. The sounds of the ocean were soft and distant, and perhaps would have lulled him to sleep if he hadn't been so determined to take out his phone. He pushed down on one number before pressing the phone to his ear.
"This better be important, Hess," the voice on the other end growled, remnants of sleep hidden in its sharp tone.
"McGarrett survived."
"…What?"
"You heard me. Keep a low profile. I'll find you tomorrow."
"How are you—"
He hung up the phone, looking at nothing in particular as the wheels began to turn in his head.
